


The Price of Freedom

by Reckoning1187



Series: The Price of Freedom [1]
Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Action, Angst, Assassin! Corvo, Assassins, Blood, Blood and Gore, Boats and Ships, Dead Rat: Do Not Eat, Fluff and Angst, Gore, Graphic Description of Corpses, Heavy Angst, M/M, Oblivious Daud, Pining, Pining Corvo, Slave Trade, Slow Burn Daud/Corvo, Slow Burn Romance, Stubborn Corvo, Whaler!Corvo, Young Corvo Attano, Young Daud (Dishonored), assassinations, heavy blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25137298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reckoning1187/pseuds/Reckoning1187
Summary: Corvo never imagined he would be ripped away from his home so suddenly. His old life is left on the shores of Serkonos and in the ash and blood of his burning home. He is kidnapped and prized as rare Serkonan merchandise for the black market trade in Bastillian and Dunwall. He is forced onto a ship and taken to the great ‘Grey City.’ There he is introduced into the trafficking trade and moved under the radar of the rest of the world, known only to Dunwall’s tainted rich and plagued slave handlers; until he meets Daud, the great Knife of Dunwall.
Relationships: Corvo Attano/Daud
Series: The Price of Freedom [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1907782
Comments: 7
Kudos: 72





	1. Injustice

The echoes of an unnatural scream resounded throughout the dark and damp. It crawled closer, taking its time to approach its prey. It screamed again, sucking the rank air into its patchwork lungs. Its head lolled, the bones of human and animal alike snapping together to make its jaws and skull. Instead of teeth were splintered bones and the odd horn of deer and hogs. It opened its mouth and leaned in towards where Corvo hid, pressed up against the side of the masses of sewer pipes that covered the walls. He placed a hand over his mouth to quiet the pained and ragged breaths seeping from his own lips. The monstrous creature gave a final breath before slinking away into the neighboring tunnel, its bones snapping and bending to fit into the smaller space. 

Only when its heavily barbed tail disappeared for a full minute did Corvo allow himself to breathe again. He pressed his hand firmly to his waist, trying to staunch the endless flow of blood that seeped down his side. He pushed himself out of the corner he had crushed himself in, his shoulders aching from being stuffed into the too-small space for too long. He pulled on his magic for a blink, feeling the lingering headache grow into a steady, throbbing pulse again. He patted his elixir case, reminding himself of his lack of. He had lost it on his last narrow escape from the damned creature. Despite his mana exhaustion, he gathered enough of his magic for a short blink, aiming it for the sewer pipe high above the drain-chamber’s floor. He scrambled into the pipe, slipping on the filth inside. The other end of the pipe lead into the pitch black, away from the lights that filtered through the grate above the antechamber. Corvo went further into the dark, away from the opening. A shiver shot through his spine as he leaned against the chilled surface of the pipe. He laid his head down on the cold metal, feeling gravity pull his body into a restless sleep. 

‘Karnaca was cold back then too, wasn’t it?’

. . .

Corvo heard his mother calling for him. He was out in the fresh powder, building something that was supposed to resemble a snowman. His mother scooped him up into her warm arms, cradling him against her chest. He remembered laughing and smiling with her, playing and growing up in her light, though only in brief flashes. 

He remembered his father even less. He remembered how everything changed when he died in the ‘accident,’ how his mother lost her warmth and openness, how his sister became distant and distracted, often going into the slums of the city. Before he knew it, she was gone from his life. She had yelled at his mother before leaving, storming out the door and slamming it behind her. He had followed her out of the house, barely even 9 years old, asking her where she was going. She had turned around and knelt, putting her hands on his tiny shoulders. 

“Go back Corvo. Go back home. I’m leaving and I won’t be coming back. You’re going to have to help Mom from now on, understand? You’re the man of the house now.” With that, she left, heading towards the docks with a man who was waiting for her. That was the last time he saw her. 

After that it just got worse.

His mother soon became ill and unable to move far from her bed. The debts for her medicine piled up. When he was deemed old enough to work (about a year after his sister), he started in the mines just outside his home city’s borders, digging up minerals and the occasional vein of ore alongside the poorest of the ‘great Karnaca.’ He was respected by the other men and boys only for his youth and determination to work his mother’s medical bill off. He was lucky enough not to develop the ‘miner’s plague,’ as the residents called it. The other miners were kind, for the most part, only the odd drunk or two, stumbling and cussing their way up and down the tunnels. Corvo stayed in the mines until he was fourteen before finally quitting his work there. 

He spent most of his time in the slums, joining up with a small gang of thieves and pickpockets just fighting to get along. He stole the rare wallet or plotted grab-and-runs with the other boys. This time would be no different. 

Corvo looked at the bread with mock hunger. In reality his belly was quite comfortably full, but the stall’s tender would never know that by his slight frame and old, loose mining clothes. The man looked more fit to be a butcher than a baker, his hardened appearance taking on a more muscular look than the general toughness that took over the residents’ features. The man finished with his last customer and turned to Corvo. He looked him up and down, almost immediately suspicious. So he had been stolen from by kids before. No matter. It would happen again despite the storekeeper's watchful eyes. 

“Excuse me… sir,” Corvo said pitifully, trying out his best acting. He shifted with his perfected mock anxiousness, swaying slightly and placing a single small coin on the man’s countertop. “How much will this buy me? ...s-sir?” The man’s stature softened a bit, and he gave a sad smile down at Corvo. Fooled again! Corvo looked up at the man hopefully, giving a small bat of his eyes. The man turned from him, looking through his wares. He returned with a decently-sized loaf of bread — albeit a little rat-bitten and stale. 

“Take this, kid. And take your money back too. I can’t stand sending you runts away hungry.” He handed Corvo the loaf and coin. Corvo stared at the loaf then the man in fake astonishment.

“A-are you sure?” The man nodded and pressed the food and coin into his hands before shooing him away. 

“Go on. Before I change my mind.” Corvo smiled sweetly at him before running off through the streets, ducking into an alley.

“Free food guys!” he announced, holding the bread above his head and stamping on the cobblestones with cloth-wrapped and shoeless feet. Out from old crates and broken windows crawled the children, most of them younger than Corvo himself. They cheered and chanted his name for a minute before someone grabbed the loaf from his hands and started cutting it into even portions. Barely a bite and a half per mouth, Corvo noted. He took his offered piece, wrapping it tightly in his flea-bitten jacket. 

Corvo felt a pat on his back, and he turned to face the little gang’s leader; Aurthur. “Nice work today, Crow.” He looked at Corvo with his mischievous, glinting eyes. The eyes that always put him on edge for some reason. Aurthur gave him a slight push before joining the others in their ‘feast.’ Corvo had never stayed long, and he certainly wouldn’t when that look entered Aurthur’s eyes. He knew that a few of the older kids went missing over the last few months, never to be seen again. He had a growing feeling that Aurthur had something to do with their disappearances. 

Corvo started on his walk home through the slums. He glanced around at the ramshackled homes and ruined buildings that made up the edges of the wharf. He went into his own home, unfolding the bread from his jacket and taking it off. He tossed it over a chair back, walking up the stairs to the second level. He stopped in front of his mother’s door. 

“Mother?” he called, knocking on the door. “May I come in?” A soft noise came from inside, beckoning him in. He did so. He stepped over to his mother’s bedside, pulling a plate from her nearby cabinets and setting the hunk of bread on it. He put it on the desk beside him and helped his mother sit up. He sat down beside her.

“Corvo, where have you been? You weren’t with those street kids again, were you? I’ve told you to stay away from them,” she scolded, though the warmth and kindness hadn’t left her features. 

“No mother,” he lied, giving her a small smile.

“That’s good. You should stick to more honest work than that—” She broke off and started coughing, covering her mouth with a small handkerchief. Corvo went for the sink, filling a glass with water and returning to her. She took it, nodding her thanks, and sipped it down. Corvo took the glass when she was done and watched her nibble at the bread. He took that as well when she had eaten it down. He moved to the chair and laid his head on the mattress. His mother ran her fingers through his short hair, willing his eyes to close. Before he knew it, he had fallen asleep. 

A slam echoed through the house. Corvo bolted awake, moving to the doorway and peering down the staircase. He saw the men rummaging through his house, opening the doors and cabinets in search of something. He heard one of them talk, his slurred voice penetrating the ruckus downstairs. He sounded like a sailor. 

“Com’ on w’th me. ‘E’s got to be upsturs.” He started up the stairs, quickly followed by another of his companions. Corvo quietly shut the door and locked it, then opened his mother’s desk’s drawer. He saw what he was looking for and grabbed up the knife just as the first man started banging into the rotten door. A second later it cracked and split under his weight. He stepped inside, ducking the doorway, at least two feet above Corvo’s head. 

“Oh, oh,” his friend chuckled from behind him, moving beside him. Corvo glared. “If it isn’t the payload. Come to meet us in person, eh?” He looked to his friend, shooting the taller man a sickening, yellow-black smile. “He’s a pretty one, his friend was right about that.”

Corvo’s stomach dropped. It was Aurthur, wasn’t it? That’s why the boys had gone missing. It made him sick. 

“Corvo,” his mother said softly from behind him. She was standing with a certain strength that she hadn’t ever had since she became sick. She pushed Corvo behind her and slipped his knife into her hand. All Corvo saw was her back then. 

“An’ther one? Looks like w’ made th’ windfall, didn’t we?” Corvo could hear the malice in his voice. “Take ‘im.” His mother lunged forward, the knife in her hand slashing across the face of the taller man. In the same moment, she pushed Corvo to the side and towards the door. Corvo stumbled and ran, pausing in the doorway to look back. The taller man had grabbed his mother’s wrists and had made her drop the knife. She struggled and kicked against him as the other man tried to approach her.

“You bitch!”

“RUN CORVO—” Her scream was cut off by a knife in her throat. She choked on her own blood as it spilled freely from her neck. The men ripped the knife out and tossed her to the floor. Her eyes fell to Corvo. Her arm stretched out towards him. 

Corvo let out a yell. He charged the men before they could even turn around. Something hit him in the back of the head. Hard. Everything went black. 

. . .

Corvo woke to the sway of a ship and the rustle of chains. He cracked open his eyes but saw nothing. Just the empty black. He made to push himself off the floor, but found his hands restrained behind him. He lifted his head from the floor, trying to ignore the headache that had set in. His body ached as well, especially his joints. He felt too hot, and yet shivered in the empty, dank air.

He laid there for what seemed like an hour or so, waiting out the dark. When light finally penetrated his senses, it was from the far ceiling. The dim, grayish light poured into the room and illuminated a set of stairs. A silhouette descended the stairs. They carried something in their arms. They set it down and struck a match, lighting the two lanterns in the room. The lamps’ faint light made the rest of the room visible. 

Small forms shivered in the dark, chains wrapping around their necks and hands. Children. Most of them younger than Corvo. It made him more nauseous than he already felt. He couldn’t help but notice that he was one of the only Serkonans aboard, the rest being Tyvian and the odd Morley. The other Serkonans didn’t look very healthy.

The man approached Corvo with his various items in hand. On reflex, Corvo pulled away from him, finding his back against the wall. Just that small movement made him feel sapped and woozy. The man pulled his head up roughly, setting a coarse hand on his forehead. He grunted and reached into a small bag, coming out with a pill. He then pulled a flask of water from the bag, sitting Corvo up against the wall. He made Corvo take the pill, handing him the water and watching as the boy all but drained it. He took it back and put it away, moving to the next child and checking them over. He did that for all of the children before he left. 

Corvo was glad to have the light. It gave him something to do at the very least. He watched the small flames dance and sway with each draft and pitch of the ship. He eventually found himself nodding off. He woke periodically, flinching awake at every small sound. 

The doctor came in once a day with food, mostly hardtack and the occasional fruit. It never came in any abundance, so most of the time Corvo felt the pangs of hunger at their finest. 

He couldn’t keep the images of the day he left out fo his mind. His mother kept dying in front of him. Her body kept falling. The knife kept goring her. Even this eventually faded into the numbness of passing time.

At some point he noticed the bodies of the two other Serkonan children being taken out of the hold along with a few others. Moments later he heard the faint splashes of their bodies.

It seemed to him that every minute and every hour blurred into one another — that was also probably at cause from the prescription that the man had given him. The walls seemed to get closer and more cramped, squeezing him and making his stomach reel. He occasionally heard the crying of the other children before a crewman came to shut them up. He felt light and heavy at the same time, like gravity couldn’t make up its mind. 

He snapped awake when the sailor had thrown the hatches up. He squinted into the sudden light. Almost half the children were taken out of the hold and brought above deck — a sailor reached for him, dragging him up by his shirt — but he was not to be one of them.

“Stop. That one stays here,” a gruff and high-and-mighty looking man said, and Corvo made him out to be either the captain of the vessel or the head merchant. The sailor threw Corvo down, earning a glare from the other. 

“An’ why not?” came the sailor’s gruff reply. He obviously had distaste for the man. Corvo pretended to be oblivious, in reality paying close attention to his supervisors. The man huffed at the sailor and looked down at Corvo.

“He’ll be worth more in Dunwall than in Bastillian. I have a certain Lord who has taken interest in owning him.”


	2. The Aggressor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo struggles to find his bearings in unfamiliar territory.
> 
> _____________________________________________________________

They had docked in Bastillian for a few days, over which, many of the children onboard the ship were sold and traded for various illegal goods and contraband. Corvo stayed in the hold of the ship for most of that time. There were rare chances when the children were allowed to spend an hour or so on deck. To “soak up the sun,” the doctor had said, was vital for their wellbeings. 

The sales had closed on the second day. The head merchant was insistent that the ship be underway immediately, but was halted in doing so by the captain’s forecaster. The old man had managed to convince the merchant against leaving the port due to the telling of the bones and the feeling in his gut. The merchant agreed for the sole purpose of not losing his goods, and a wise thing he did. 

As predicted, a heavy squall blew in from the Pandyssian Continent. The ship creaked and churned violently in the waters of the bay, so much so that Corvo decided not to think of how it would’ve been if they had decided to leave early. Many of the children became ill during the storm. Five died in their chains in the week following. Another two had severe symptoms and were thrown overboard before they could contaminate the others. Corvo had lost track of when the ship had left the port, his mind rousing over the steady rhythm of bodies against water. 

The remaining few came down to Corvo and eight others.

One of the days into their voyage, Corvo couldn’t tell which, he heard the sailors yelling up a storm. He heard their rushed orders and quick feet running across the ceiling. Eventually he heard singing. It was sad and desperate — depressing to hear. Blood leaked in through the boards of the ceiling. The crying of the whale stopped after a few days.

Corvo waited in the dark, his companions crying and begging for their mothers and fathers, or even just a taste of sunlight. The next time he saw light was in the grey, moonlit harbors of Dunwall. The sailor moved with practiced movements and swiftly fastened a tough iron collar around his throat. The man shoved him up the stairs and out of the hold, keeping a firm grip on the long chain connected to Corvo’s new restraint. The collar dug into his skin when he failed to keep up with the man’s pace, which was often. 

He was walked down the boarding plank, the man in front of him stopping on the dock and murmuring with a ragged-looking woman who greeted him. Corvo saw the ship from the outside for the first time. A well-kept whaling vessel, its catch hanging limp in its suspended position above the front deck. Sickened by the bloody sight, Corvo turned his gaze down toward the ship itself. In fading paint across its flank: The Aggressor. Several other whaling ships were docked in the yard, a few with their catch still aboard. A whale was singing sadly across the water as it was pulled into a large building. 

“Keep moving kid.” He was shoved again and he stumbled forward, almost choking as the collar jerked around his neck. Corvo saw the other eight children being taken somewhere else in similar manners. The man led him through cobbled streets and alleys, through the shadows of the tall buildings and the filth of the district. Corvo looked around as they went, a couple times spotting the flicker of someone on the rooftops or in the allies. When he turned to look, though, there was no evidence that anyone had been there at all. 

They stopped outside a newer, cleaner looking building. The sailor knocked on the door of the building rhythmically, and a gaunt, wily man opened the door. He looked from the sailor to Corvo and beckoned them in without a word. The way the man’s eyes lingered on Corvo as they entered made him shiver and dislike the man. Corvo was taken to a small bathroom and given the simple command: “Wash.” His hands were freed for the task and the sailor stepped out of the room. Corvo was grateful for the chance to get the grime off of his body and stripped, leaving his clothes strewn carelessly on the floor. He stepped into the curtained space at the back of the room where a steamy bucket of water and a bar of soap awaited him. At some point he heard someone come into the room with him, but they quickly left. When Corvo stepped through the curtain again, his old clothes had been replaced by clean ones — a black muscle shirt that almost fell off his thin frame and a pair of dark-grey cargo pants. He was given no shoes, so he was thankful for the one small stroke of luck — they had missed the old strips of cloth that he had used to bind his feet before. The sailor returned and shackled him again, his arms pulled behind him in the same stiff position. 

They walked through the house and up the stairs to the second floor. 

“—truly a rare specimen, my Lord. I think he will suit you well.”

“We shall see, Garron.”

The sailor pushed him into an office. The three men that were speaking amongst one another stopped, looking at the two newcomers. One of the men — Corvo recognized him as the merchant — gave a gesture to the sailor. The man shoved Corvo further into the room before closing and locking the door behind him as he left. The merchant spoke.

“Lords Pendleton, this is the boy I was telling you about—” The merchant grinned politely at the twins and approached Corvo, taking him by the shoulders. Corvo shrugged him off and glared at him. The merchant laughed nervously and stood aside from Corvo, as if to allow a better view for the twins. Both of the twins looked exactly the same, save their clothing. One wore a navy-black overcoat and the other remained coatless, dressed completely in white. 

“Go see what you think, Morgan.” It was the former that spoke, the other — Morgan, the white-clad one — stepped towards Corvo as a fool of a jester would approach a wild animal; brisk and deliberate, as if to impress. He stopped a mere foot away from Corvo, his hand coming up to shove his jaw to the side. 

Corvo glared at him, though the man was about a good foot and a half taller than him. He snapped his head away from Morgan’s hand, spitting at his feet. The other twin started towards Corvo in a fury, but Morgan shot him a look. 

“Custis—” His tone was warning. Custis backed off, instead going for a bottle of alcohol on the desk beside him. The man looked back to Corvo and stepped around him as one might examine a show dog before buying. 

Morgan and Garron started bargaining with each other then arguing over prices and quality. The shrewd man from earlier, who Corvo guessed as the Pendletons’ manservant, took him from the room and led him up to the attic of the building, shoving him inside and locking the door. Corvo looked around the empty room with purpose, kicking himself when he found it abnormally clean and empty. Who didn’t keep at least some of their junk in their attic? He moved to the single window at the end of the room and looked down the wall of the building. Sheer walls with little to no handholds — not that he could even reach them with his hands bound behind his back. He sat on the floor, his back against the opposite wall from the window. He watched as the sky darkened outside and the first drops of rain became a downpour. 

He heard footsteps outside the door, two hushed voices ascending quickly. He stood up just as the two Pendletons entered the room. Custis shot him a glare. 

“I’ll deal with the transactions, Morgan.” He handed his brother something and left the room. Corvo watched Morgan warily as the man looked down at the object in his hand. He looked at Corvo with something like hunger — it made shivers run up and down his back. Morgan stepped towards him. 

“Turn around,” he ordered. Corvo didn’t move. Morgan held up the key that Custis had given him. “Turn around kid. I’m not going to kill you.” Yet, Corvo thought, but he turned his back to the man, looking over his shoulder at him. The man closed the distance between them, and shortly, both the manacles and collar fell to the floor. In their place, Morgan fastened a band of black leather around his throat, his fingers lingering a little too long over his skin. He noticed the slender chain leash that had been attached to it — it fell loosely to the ground. 

Corvo expected the man to move away, but instead he found Morgan sucking in a breath, his nose hovering over Corvo’s neck. 

“Your scent,” he paused, inhaling, “is that of the calm before a storm.” Corvo’s first instinct was to get away, but before he could move more than a step in the right direction, the man’s hands were placed firmly on his arms. He jerked forward, escaping Morgan’s grip for an instant. He lunged for the door that he knew had to be unlocked — he never heard Custis lock it behind him when he left. His hand within inches of the doorknob, he felt Morgan’s weight crash into him. Pendleton’s hand pinned both of his wrists to the floor where they had fallen before he could even blink. He was helpless under Morgan’s weight above him, and he cursed his lack of strength from the voyage. Corvo’s eyes fixed on the shiny blade that Morgan had pulled, his breath hitching involuntarily. Morgan gave a sick smile — he was actually enjoying this. 

“Do you speak, boy?”he asked, dragging the knife across Corvo’s cheek, lightly enough that it didn’t penetrate his skin. It made Corvo shiver. “Tell me your name.”

Corvo stayed silent. 

“I said — tell me your name, boy.” Corvo flinched violently as he felt the cold metal against his hip. Part of him wanted to be his stubborn self, but naturally, the side of survival far outweighed being cocky for the sake of his ego. 

“Corvo,” he half mumbled, flinching again as the knife tapped against his collarbone. 

“Corvo—” The man said smoothly, as though trying the word on his tongue. He looked as though he was about to say something else when someone knocked on the door. 

“Come in.”

“He’s paid for, Morgan. Might I suggest that we return to the manor?” Custis didn’t seem alarmed to find his twin on the floor with a knife near Corvo’s throat. That made his stomach tighten. Morgan made a low hum of agreement, sheathing his knife in his boot and pulling Corvo up roughly by the arm. He took hold of the chain attached to his collar before moving past Custis. 

Corvo glanced back into the attic a last time before he was tugged downstairs. His eyes locked on the window by a swift shadow moving outside of it. It disappeared faster than it came. Morgan tugged on the chain, making Corvo stumble at the top of the stairs. He caught his balance and descended them, not wishing for a broken neck. 

The trio walked through the freezing rain and back to the docks. A small covered riverboat waited for them. By the time they arrived under its shelter they were soaked. The ride to Pendleton Manor was long and cold. Corvo looked over the river ahead of them and the clocktower standing above the dark horizon. The riverboat docked near the base of the huge bridge that stretched over the river. 

The twins led the way into the manor, a few servants and maids welcoming them back. Morgan handed Corvo to an older woman dressed in faded maids’ garb. 

“Show him to where he will be staying, Gilga.”

She motioned for Corvo to walk down the main hall, and Corvo silently appreciated her use of body language and gestures instead of pushing or pulling him where she wanted him to go. She led him up the curving stone stairs and down the halls of the manor, stopping before a door at the end of the wing. She opened the door for him. The room was neat, and with sparse furnishings and a large bed in the center of the room it almost looked normal. Almost. Metal rings were scattered amongst the walls and ceiling, worn from use. The rug on the floor was stained a red-brown from the previous occupants. He couldn’t catch a break, could he?

. . .

Shadows flickered through the rain. A figure appeared on the roof next to him.

“Rulfio,” Daud greeted, nodding at the older man’s arrival. “How goes the search?” Rulfio sighed heavily and ducked through the empty window frame to join Daud under the roof, pulling off his hood and mask. He set the latter on the windowsill before moving to Daud’s desk. 

“I waited for the ship, just like you said. It came in a little later than I expected though — waited ‘till after nightfall to dock. Sure enough, all these kids come pouring out of the hold. Nine of ‘em, I counted. Most of ‘em Tyvian. One,” he paused, looking into his eyes. “One was Serkonan. Probably thoroughbred too, by the look of him. They had him headed off in a different direction than the others. I had the others followed by one of the pups and went after the kid.” Daud’s eyes flashed with something like anger and pain before becoming impassive again.

“And? What did you find?” Rulfio’s face turned hard, and his fist clenched. 

“He was privately sold to the Pendleton Twins. Before he was even bought up I saw Morgan — the piece of shit — waving a knife at him. I followed them up the river a ways, and to where they were headed to their good-and-warm estate of theirs. I saw Custis take the kid’s contract with him and put it in his private safe. Couldn’t see the combination from that distance though.” Rulfio stopped, his gaze on the floor. 

Daud hummed, encouraging him to continue. 

“It’s just — When I was in Slaughterhouse Row, there were several times when he seemed to look right at me. He never reached out or seemed to do anything but that, but still — I was using this.” He set a bone charm on the desk. Daud put a hand over it and listened to its songs and promises of power. It was a cloaking charm, one that made people’s attention linger elsewhere from the user. Daud’s brow furrowed. 

“For now, let’s focus on getting the proof we need and getting the kids out of the trafficking route.”


	3. The Contract

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Corvo meets Daud under violent circumstances. 
> 
> \-----
> 
> Please note that this chapter has blood and profanity, as well as dark themes in it - including torture.

“It’s safe to say that Morgan is slightly paranoid. He doubled — if not tripled — the guards and afterwards stalked through his halls like a madman. I saw him going to Custis’ room and speaking with him. He seems to be mildly aggravated by our intrusion at the least,” Rulfio reported sarcastically, his mouth twitching with a suppressed grin. 

Daud sighed lightly at his companion’s comment. “Have you had any luck with the safe?” Rulfio shook his head. An impassive frown slipped across Daud’s lips. “Troublesome. And what of the boy?”

“Morgan hasn’t touched him yet. Hasn’t been feeding him from what I’ve seen either, though the old maid of the house has been sneaking him bits and pieces when she can.” He paused and shifted from where he leaned against the wall. “You do realize that if Morgan gets too stressed or paranoid, he’ll take it out on the kid, don’t you?” Daud hesitated a moment, his fingers clenching around the doorframe. 

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take. We can suffer a casualty if it’s what’s needed to get the contract. Take another look around the manor, see if you can find a way to get the safe open.” He sighed, exasperated. “ And keep an eye on the kid.”

. . .

Morgan paced through his twin’s study for what felt like the thousandth time that day. Custis watched him idly from where he sat at his desk, sipping at a glass of wine. 

“If you feel so worried about it then just be done with it. Burn it in the hearth for all I care. It’s not like we have another use for it.” Custis poured more wine into his glass as he spoke, twirling the burgundy liquid in its bottle. Morgan put his hands on the desk, looking his brother in the eyes. 

>Morgan opened the door to stand in the doorway, the empty bottle in his hands. He set it in the doorway before stepping inside. Corvo bolted upright from the bed where he had most likely fallen asleep, scrambling to stand on the cold floor. Morgan felt the boy’s eyes on him. He walked up to Corvo, pulling his chin up to look him in the eyes.<

“You can’t simply think that it was a coincidence, Brother?” He recalled the guard’s report. “‘A flickering shadow,’ he had said, ‘that walked like a man.’” 

>“Still alive Corvo?” Morgan’s mouth twitched up into a smile. Corvo shot daggers at him; the boy could smell the alcohol under his breath. Morgan’s hand slipped away from him. He slipped off his vest, letting it hang over the edge of the bed. Corvo’s eyes locked upon it, his eyes scrutinizing. Morgan moved over him quickly. A shove to the chest sent the scrawny boy tumbling, his back catching on the edge of the desk behind him with a sharp crack.<

“It can’t be them. They know to stay away from nobility.”  
Corvo winced, pulling himself up from the desk. Morgan hit him across the face — hard — and sent him to bite the floor. Corvo rolled away from him, standing up a few feet away. Morgan walked towards him. 

Morgan’s hands slammed on the table. “What would they not do for enough money, Custis? I know it’s them — those street scum. They hide in the slums like they own the place, infecting the sewers and rooftops alike,” he spat. “Trust me Brother,” he said, moving to his twin’s side. “They aren’t just passing through. Trust me.”

>“Say something Corvo, entertain me.” Corvo kept his mouth firmly shut. He would not give Morgan the satisfaction.<

Custis set down his wine heavily. “As you wish Morgan. I will increase the patrol rate, but I cannot spare more funds for yet another guard increase. The silver has become depleted as it is.” 

>“...Oh, don’t be like that.”<

. . .

Rulfio slipped past the guard watch with relative ease. He noticed the careful movements they made. Even if they were still fairly lazy, they paid more attention to the rooftops and shadows — they had even blocked off the sewer entrances. He slipped over the grounds quickly, blinking up to the vent system halfway up the building. He climbed up to the roof overhead. 

Two young whalers stood over the floor map of the Pendletons’ estate house and grounds, squinting at the parchment in the waning sunlight. They looked up at Rulfio as he approached. 

“Master Rulfio,” one greeted, stepping to make room for the man. “We’ve scouted the grounds, but have had no luck in entrances to the basement or cellar of the mansion. I’ve positioned Quinn to watch over the twins, since he was so eager to help more.” A look of tiredness passed through his eyes.  
Rulfio sighed at that. He had heard the report and the endless apologies from the novice whaler himself. He had cursed himself for bringing such an inexperienced trainee with him at the time, but later saw it as a lesson for both himself and the other young whalers. It was going to take a lot more effort to finish the job now though. One of the novices put several stones over the map before signing to his companion rapidly. So it was Renor beside him — Rulfio remembered the young man had lost his tongue in a past encounter with an Overseer. Akila must’ve been the other then. The two had become good friends and outstanding partners in the field due to Akila’s knowledge of sign language. Rulfio wondered why he never had the thought to teach the rest of the recruits as well. 

“These are where we’ve stationed the scouts. They reported back a half hour or so ago,” Renor said, his signs and gestures to the stones only just visible in the thick twilight. Rulfio signed a quick ‘thank you.’

“Give me a full report of everything that’s happened since I left. I want to know down to the last detail.”

“Sir,” Akila acknowledged. “There has been an increase in the guards' awareness in the past few hours, but no one was seen. They seem to be looking more attentively towards the rooftops, but have also taken the liberty of checking in the darker corners of the grounds as well. The patrols switch in thirty minute intervals, making it harder to get in and out undetected.”

“What of the safe? Any word or hint?”  
“Yes, actually, but some mixed news comes with that. The Pendletons seem to be quite adequate in keeping their secrets close to them, but a scout was able to infiltrate.” The novice paused, crouching to point at the diagram of the safe on the map. “We’ve posted someone in the office to keep a close eye on it, but I fear the Pendletons have become more careful since Quinn’s slip up; they hardly leave the room unguarded. Also, one of the scouts has reported that there is an alarm system connected to the safe—”

“Akila, Master Rulfio—” A whaler transversed onto the roof beside them, making the younger two whalers flinch in surprise. They pulled off their mask, breathing sharply from many transversals in a row. He leaned down on his knees for support.

“Quinn, catch your breath. Report?” Quinn sucked in a breath and straightened up to his full height — just an inch or two below Rulfio. 

“I was watching Custis and Morgan as you asked, Akila. They were working for a while in their office. Custis got a guest from an acquaintance and left the study — I couldn’t recognize who she was; I followed them to the drawing room. Turns out they were just discussing the business in Draper’s Ward and the statuses of the Financial District for almost an hour on end. I had someone take over for me to watch for any important information. I went on to find Morgan.” He paused, looking to the surface of the roof. “I saw him coming out of the slave’s room with blood on his shirt. I rushed here afterwards and—” 

Rulfio put a hand on the boy’s shoulder to stop him. Quinn’s eyes were shadowed with a look of failure. His gaze lingered on the boy, something of compassion and sympathy written in his eyes. 

“You did well. Return to the slums and report this to Daud. I assume that he will want to step in himself at this point.” Rulfio nodded to Quinn as the whaler dipped his head and transversed off of the roof.

Rulfio followed soon after. He blinked back down the side of the building, catching himself on an open windowsill. He peered inside. The dim hallway was abandoned but for a moth hovering about an oil lamp. He slipped inside, walking down the hallway to the door at the far end. He looked through the keyhole, seeing nothing but the faint cast of light from the hallway outside and a single window in the room beyond. He twisted the doorknob to find it locked. He cussed under his breath and looked around. Finding nothing useful, he slipped back outside the mansion, blinking to the ledge at the corner of the building’s exterior. Rounding the corner, he saw his opportunity; the window of the room was shattered in the very top panes, the glass worn away over time. Rulfio blinked up to the ledge above him and leaned into the room. He made another quick transversal to the rafters and into the room. 

It was there he saw the boy, lying prone on the floor near the wall. The sparse furniture of the room was either overthrown or butted up against the walls at odd angles. Rulfio could see the chain wrapped around the boy’s neck from there. It made him sick.

He looked closer at the boy, spotting several large discolorations on his visible skin that would soon turn into nasty contusions. A thin trail of blood seeped from a gash in his arm, staining the floorboards. 

Rulfio hardly noticed the boy’s alertness until he moved, pulling himself up to sit against the wall with a wince. He looked straight at Rulfio then. His black-brown eyes looked into the depths of his mask. Rulfio flinched, feeling for the bone charm that was still actively whispering its power on his coat. 

It has to be a coincidence. He just happened to look here — right?

“I know you’re here,” came the boy’s voice, rough and quiet. The boy pushed himself up further and flicked his gaze around the rest of the ceiling, searching. 

So he can’t directly see me. 

“Come out already.”

Rulfio hesitated a moment before dropping down to the floor in a crouch, earning a flinch from the room’s other occupant. The boy’s body went rigid as Rulfio stood, but didn’t move away from him. 

“Who are you?”

His eyes deepened. “Someone who’s going to help,” he said sedately. Rulfio stepped towards him, pausing as the boy slid away from him. He grimaced as the golden light from the window revealed more of the boy’s injuries. Rulfio crouched down to Corvo’s level — or as close to it as he could get. 

Damn, this kid was tiny. In both meat on his bones and height. The latter was probably because of the former. He knew how the merchants treated their goods. They only fed them enough to keep them alive, not enough so that they could grow or even move much. 

The kid eyed him, mistrust actively flickering through his eyes. He swallowed shallowly before speaking with a forced confidence. “Oh? And who, may I ask, is helping?” 

Rulfio had to hand it to the kid, he was smart. Anyone who had lived on the streets long enough to survive decently knew not to trust openly. Carelessness could result in death after all. 

“The Whalers,” Rulfio relented, his fingers twiddling with the edge of his coat. “A client hired us.” The boy tilted his head slightly. 

“Whalers?” he echoed, asking the question with his eyes. 

“Yes,” Rulfio said, patient. “We’re a small group that are commissioned by those with the means to pay us. Put simply, we do the dirty work or deeds that they want to keep under wraps so that they can have full deniability.” Rulfio sat on the floor, easing his feet out from under him. “Our current client wants Morgan,” he gestured to the door, “to be exposed for what he’s done to you, and for the slave merchants to… retire.” He said the last word carefully, and waited for his listener’s response. 

The boy said nothing for a while, instead, keeping his eyes on the window. 

“So why meet with me? Face to face doesn’t really seem like something that the Whalers would do.” The boy motioned to Rulfio’s mask.

“We are… having a bit of trouble. We can’t get the proper evidence we need to prove Morgan’s illegalities.”

Questions flickered in the boy’s eyes like smoke. 

Rulfio paused. “I was told to keep watch over you for the time being. You sure ask a lot of questions, kid.”

“So I guess you won’t mind a few more then. And my name isn’t ‘kid,’” he said, straitening up. “It’s Corvo.”

He suppressed a chuckle, instead smiling under his mask. “Rulfio.” He stuck his hand out towards Corvo, who took it carefully and shook. “Ask away. I don’t promise to have all of the answers though.”

Corvo smiled — briefly, yes, but Rulfio considered that a win. “How long have you been following me? At least two days, right?”

Rulfio blinked in surprise, but smiled all the same. He dropped Corvo’s hand and settled back against the floor. “About two days, yes. Almost since you set foot off of your boat.”

Corvo hummed in response, thinking it over. “What’s the evidence that you need to get?”

“Your contract of sale.” The boy seemed disarmed at that, but quickly regained his composure. “It’s in a safe. We haven’t been able to—”

“It’s not there,” Corvo interrupted. Rulfio looked at him, confused, but caught the nervous swallow that moved against Corvo’s throat. 

…

“You’re wasting your time trying to get in.”

“How do y—”

“Morgan had it in his coat pocket, I saw it.” Corvo involuntarily shivered.

>“Get back here, rat!” 

>Corvo scrambled toward the door, barely dodging out of the way of Morgan’s foot. He tried the doorknob, willing it to be unlocked. He pulled the door from the wall, squeezing to fit himself through the small gap he had created. He was pulled back harshly by his throat. He fell to the floor. The door slammed closed. Morgan gripped him by the hair, pulling him up and throwing him into the footboard of the bed. Corvo pushed himself up, wrapping a hand around his throbbing ribs. He saw the coat lying across the bed, the parchment in its folds. He pulled it out swiftly, finding a deed of ownership with Custis’ name in scrolling print at the bottom. It sickened him to find his name on the paper. A hand landed firmly on his shoulder and spun him around—<

Corvo flinched back from Rulfio’s hand, dislodging it from his shoulder. Even through the mask he could sense the man’s concern. It was… odd to have him — a stranger — worry over him so freely. A little disarming even. The silence stretched on for a while, almost plaguing the room and its occupants. 

In the end it was Rulfio that broke the silence.

“Thank you Cor—” he stops abruptly mid-sentence, listening. Corvo hears the footsteps in the hallway and looks towards the door. The padding shoes draw closer. In an instant, Rulfio is on his feet. The Whaler steps towards the cracked window to leave. 

Corvo hardly realised that he had moved before he found his hand clutching onto Rulfio’s blue coat. His lips part as if to say something, but his voice refuses to cooperate. Rulfio turns slowly, putting his big hands on Corvo’s small arms. 

“Corvo. I swear that I’ll come back for you. I won’t let that piece of shit touch you again, or anyone else.” The man offers a reassuring squeeze before releasing him and pulling his mask more tightly over his face. Wordlessly, Rulfio hands him a small shiv and closes Corvo’s fingers around it. “I want you to use it if you have to. Understand?” Numbly, Corvo nods. Rulfio’s eyes smile sadly from the windows of the mask. With a brief hiss of shadows and whispers, Rulfio departs, landing on the rafters and ducking out the way he came in. Corvo hears the door unlatch. He hides the shiv in his waistband and covers it with his shirt seconds before the door opens. 

Gilga steps into the room, a small basket tucked under her arm. Corvo releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. The woman offers him a smile concealing her unhappiness. Corvo knows that the maid disapproves of the housemasters’ actions, yet stays in their indenture. Probably for her fear of them. She silently crosses the room and settles beside him, taking out various ointments and elixirs, as well as a few strips of clean linen. Sending a quiet prayer of thanks to all of the good people in the world — though he’s not quite sure who he’s praying to — he sits down in front of her and lets her work.

…

Rulfio steps into the rundown apartment building lacking the usual exuberant step in his stride. He makes his way up the floors until he reaches the penthouse. Daud frowns as he looks up, likely noting the other’s discomfort. Moving away from his stacked papers and maps, he faces the Whaler. 

“That bad?”

Rulfio says nothing, moving to rest his back against the wall. He pulls his mask off, fiddling with the straps. 

“... Quinn gave me the report. You were right to notify me.”

“...Void, Daud. You should’ve seen him. He was covered in bruises. Probably a few fractured ribs too, by the looks of it.” The man rubbed a hand through his hair, slumping against the wall further. “He’s a tough kid though. Or acts well enough to pass for it. He’s smart too. Crafty. He figured out what our scouts couldn’t in the day or so he’s been there.”

Daud grunts in response. 

“Morgan keeps the contract on his person at all times, in his coat. Figures that he wouldn’t trust a safe right now, much less his brothers to keep track of it. Sick bastard.”

“We move tonight.”

“I’m all for it, but how exactly do you want to play this? We can’t exactly march in and say ‘hey you, this is a stickup!’” Rulfio shifts uneasily under Daud’s look. “I’m not going to like this plan, am I?”

“We wait until Morgan is with the boy again. We move while he’s distracted and steal the contract without a confrontation.” 

Rulfio stares at him incredulously, already opening his mouth to protest. 

“Rulfio—” Daud cuts him off before he can say anything. “You can’t save everyone—”

“No, but we can sure as hell try!” Daud almost flinches at the glare sent his way. “I can’t believe you — he’s a kid!”

“And Morgan’s a murderer and a sadist,” Daud fired back, his composure slipping briefly. “We need to accept that the boy—”

“—His name is Corvo,” Rulfio interjected, slamming his hands down on the table. “He’s a human being. One too young to be killed, especially like that!”

“You spoke with him?” Daud seethed, pinching the bridge of his nose and squinting his eyes. 

“Yes.” Rulfio moved closer to Daud, his hands tight fists at his sides. “He’s different Daud. He could see me. And the others. Even with the cover charms, he could see us. What was I supposed to do? Ignore him? Pretend like I was never there?”

“...Get some rest. You’ll need it for later tonight.” Daud sighed heavily, cracking open his eyes. He flicked his gaze over to Rulfio, silently stating ‘we’re done here.’ He walked towards the door stiffly.

“And what about you?” Rulfio asked, challenging the look. To the void we’re finished.

“I must inform the client of the standings, as well as a meeting place.”

“Right. Make sure to get some rest yourself.” Rulfio turned to leave as well. “And think about it Daud. Just... think about it.”

…

Daud kept to the shadows, flitting through the colorful air of Draper’s Ward. The sparse people in the marketplace’s streets wandered and laughed, oblivious to the slums in the waterway. He had already left his mark on Dunwall, but this place always seemed impervious to him. 

Slipping through the crowded pubs was easy enough. He stepped into the dressmaker’s studio, the man flinching at Daud’s sudden presence. 

“Master Daud,” he greeted, putting down the cloth and thread he was sorting through. “How may I be of service to you?”

“I have a message.” Daud held out the pressed parchment, sealed with crude greying wax. 

“For the Mistress, of course.” The Dressmaker reached to take it, his nimble fingers slipping the paper into his coat. Daud nodded his thanks to him and turned to leave. 

“I trust your discretion, Dressmaker.” It wasn’t a question. 

“Of course Master Daud.”

Daud ran back over the rooftops in the dusty remainders of twilight. He cut through the alleys and abandoned buildings. He climbed to the roof, spotting Renor and Akila in the dim. They waited patiently for him to reach them before beginning their report with a quick salute. 

“Master Daud,” Akila greeted. “There has been little activity on the grounds outside the normalcy. The maid of the house has tended to the boy’s injuries and has left, though I suspect Morgan will return tonight to… vent his frustration and paranoia. Matters are tense within the estate.”Daud nodded stiffly. 

He didn’t expect anything different from Rulfio’s reaction to the plan, but he was surprised at their admission. Only frowns were exchanged between the three. 

“We wait until Morgan makes his move. No sooner. No later. We cannot afford any errors.” Quinn decided to show up then, returning from his post outside the boy’s quarters. He gave a quick salute to Daud.

“Nothing out of the ordinary, Master Daud. I will need a cover for my shift though. Master Rulfio has asked me to collect supper for the scouts here.” Quinn turned to the others at this. 

“I’ll cover your watch, Quinn. Do your assignment and rest up. We’ll call you when it’s time,” Daud said, ignoring the genuinely shocked look on Quinn’s face as he spoke. 

“Y-yes sir.” He transversed off the roof. 

“I’d like you two to patrol the building again,” he said, turning to Akila and Renor. “I’ll call for you when it’s time. Notify me immediately if you hear or see signs of Morgan approaching the boy.” 

Daud blinked to the estate building, avoiding the lanterns illuminating the grounds. He quickly found the cracked window that Rulfio had used, slipping inside the room and onto the rafters. He took in the room, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness. He flinched at the boy’s black eyes. He looked into the rafters searchingly, his eyes pausing over Daud’s crouched frame before moving on. Daud waited on the far side of the rafters, settling down on them. 

He watched the boy for what seemed like hours before he felt Rulfio come beside him. He glanced at the whaler, finding the other’s gaze fixed on the boy. They remained motionless for a moment before Daud blinked outside the room, followed closely by Rulfio. 

“Stay with the boy. Alert me as soon as Morgan comes.” Daud stepped closer to Rulfio, bare inches away from him. “I don’t want to see the boy hurt any more, but you must not act on your own. Understand?” Rulfio nodded solemnly, though there was an air of content about him. Daud offered Rulfio a tiny smile before moving over the rooftops. 

… 

He had finally been able to make the boy laugh. It was high and innocent with the thrill of boyhood, but with the underlying maturity of someone who had to grow up much too soon. He had warmed up to the boy considerably, and he was happy that Corvo had started to lower his defenses around him as well. At some point during their visit together, Rulfio had taken off his mask, allowing him to converse more freely with Corvo. Now they were playing bull. (“You don’t know how to play bullshit? We have to fix this.” Corvo had burst out laughing, saying something about how ‘card games are for old people.’ That earned him look of mock-offense from Rulfio.)

“Bullshit,” Corvo called, looking down at his hand, then up at Rulfio.

“You’re too good at this game, Cor.” Rulfio whined pitifully and picked up the discard pile, shifting through his new hand. Corvo just smiled. “Brat.”

“Old man.” Corvo laid out his last cards on the floor, freeing his hands. “Two empresses.” 

Rulfio looked down at his hand and grumbled, setting his hand on the floor for him to see. Corvo didn’t even have to look to see that two empresses were missing from his opponent’s monstrosity of cards. 

“Another round!” Rulfio said, putting a fist firmly under his jaw. “I’ll win this time.” Corvo looked at him doubtfully, a grin plastered on his face.

They played several more rounds (all of which Corvo won, much to Rulfio’s displeasure) and had started swapping stories before the boy’s head had started to nod. Rulfio paused mid-sentence when he noticed, a soft smile on his face. He could finish his narrative some other time. He pulled a blanket off of the bed, draping it over Corvo’s sleeping form. 

“Goodnight Corvo.” He gathered up the strewn cards and picked up his mask, abandoned on the floor, replacing it over his face. He transversed to the rafters again, watching over Corvo while he slept.

…

“Still so young. So young. His Heart is strong. Very light. Very young. Keep him awhile. Yes, I think he’ll stay. Not on his own, not on his own. He’ll need convincing. Yes, convincing. His eyes are black too. Dark. Very black. My dear? Is that you?”

“He knows not of those matters yet. For now, let him sleep. Let him sleep and wake to the unfair world that he longs to grasp with unbloodied hands.”

…

Corvo woke with a start. Perspiration dripped down his chin and neck, pooling at his collarbones. His head felt split, like the whale had sung into his ears, chilling, beautiful and violent. He shivered from his place on the floor, but found a blanket wrapped carefully around his shoulders. Most likely Gilga or Rulfio. He hadn’t wanted to sleep on the provided bed. It made him feel that the present circumstances would remain, like it would swallow him and chain him to the room. He straightened his back against the wall, hearing the satisfying cracks throughout his spine. Cracking open his eyes, he realized that it was still dark outside the window. That one of the shadows in the rafters had disappeared, the other, still watching somewhere from the pitch. At some point it had raining, the chill and damp slipping into the room from the cracked window and loose boards in the walls. 

He knew that he had been dreaming, though he only remembered the unintelligible voices around him. What had woken him up then? He listened carefully and flinched at the sound of the key in the lock. He threw the blanket off of him, getting to his feet. The floorboards seemed like ice, his skin like frost. Time seemed to stretch as the key was turned and the tumblers were shifted. The door swung open, a sick, yellow light flooding the room from the oil lamp in the hallway. Morgan entered the room, swaying slightly on his feet, but somehow upright. Weight dropped in Corvo’s stomach like lead. He felt heavy on his feet, his heart like thunder. His eyes flicked to the shadows of the rafters, but he found them empty of their residents. He felt another weight drop into his stomach and cold mercury flood his veins. They had left him. There was no other explanation than that. Morgan stepped towards him, pulling something from his coat. It flashed in the lamplight. Every ounce of Corvo’s being told him to get away. Put as much distance between himself and this psychopath as possible. Fantasized ice froze his feet to the floor. 

He couldn’t die here, something told him. He had something left to do. Someone left to meet. He didn’t know who or what it was, but it was all he needed to chip the ice. He needed to live.

…

Rulfio was jerked into action, his feet flying across the shingles of the pathways and tracks of Dunwall’s Estate District. He couldn’t get the knife out of his head. 

Focus. Focus! Get to Daud. Get to Corvo.

The moment Rulfio set foot on the roof, Daud was moving. He moved with a forced steadiness in his gait and an urgency that spoke of fear. They crossed the grounds in record time. He didn’t even check to see if any other Whalers were following. Rulfio’s heart wrenched in his chest as they made the outside of the windowsill. Corvo let out a muffled scream, the pain evident in the boy’s thin voice. His body froze, his hands shaking. A hand was on his shoulder, snapping him out of his own head before he could assume the worst. He moved forward into the room behind Daud. He would’ve thrown himself over the side of the rafter if not for the hand holding him back. 

The door was closed. Morgan was still wearing his coat. A fire was lit in the hearth of the room, dying, but illuminating the scene in front of them. 

Corvo bucked and struggled underneath Morgan, one of his arms lying at an odd angle to his side. The other pinned between the man and his own back. The boy was laying on his stomach, immobile because of Morgan’s sheer weight and his lack of muscle. Morgan’s hands worked painfully slow over Corvo’s back, the knife dancing over his skin and leaving red. The nonsensical patterns and markings started at his mid-forearms, working their way up across his shoulder blades. Blood — dry and new — covered the floorboards and crisscrossed his skin. The boy cried out again as the knife was removed and inserted into a strip of unmarked skin. Morgan snarled and jerked up on Corvo’s chain, forcing it further into the boy’s mouth. The worst part was that Morgan was smiling. The fucking bastard was smiling all throughout his victim’s torture. 

Corvo’s eyes darted up to the rafters. There was something like relief and frustration in the boy’s eyes. Rulfio withheld the strangled noise that found itself trapped in his throat. Morgan seemed to notice the shift in atmosphere. He looked into the rafters. Lightning flashed through the sky outside, sending a flash of light through the windows. Thunder followed. It was all Morgan needed to see the silhouettes of the two Whalers. The knife was instantly at Corvo’s neck, pressing against the flesh hard enough to draw blood. 

“Looks like we’re not alone anymore. Come out of the shadows, scum, or the boy dies.”

Daud tensed beside him. Rulfio cast a glance at the man, a silent question. Relinquish their position or leave the boy? They remained still for a moment before Daud dropped down to the floor with a quiet thud. Rulfio followed after him. His hand itched for a blade, but he kept his arms still at his sides. 

“And who are you?” Morgan asked this to Daud, looking him in the eye. Rulfio noticed the shift in Morgan’s posture, sure and proud, he would say almost haughty if it weren’t for the fear that trembled through his fingers. 

“Let the boy go, Morgan.” Rulfio was surprised at Daud’s forwardness. He flinched at Morgan’s laugh. The man eyed Rulfio’s masked face with interest, then flicked his eyes back to Daud.

“You’re the Knife aren’t you? And your Whalers.” He nodded to Rulfio. The man gripped Corvo’s hair and lifted his head into what must’ve be an uncomfortable position. Corvo winced at the motion, his breathing light and fast. The blade remained at his throat. “I thought your victims never saw you, Knife,” he snarls, an amused look on his face.

“If you were my victim, you wouldn’t.” Morgan’s face falls into one of realization. He shifts his arms more protectively over his chest. Daud sends Rulfio a warning glance before giving the same to Corvo. They nod.

In a burst of movement, they move. 

Morgan flew off of Corvo’s back, pulling away from the three and backing towards the fireplace. Corvo moved his leg under Pendleton’s feet, effectively causing the man to stumble. Daud transversed past Corvo while Rulfio runs to the boy’s side. 

“Stay back!” Rulfio turned from Corvo, eying Morgan. He was sent tumbling onto his arse by a quick sweep of Daud’s legs. The man had already pulled out the papers as his hand hit the sparse flames and embers in the fireplace. Morgan howled. Daud reached into the heat himself. He snatched at the papers and pulled out their flaming remains, smothering the fire with his gloved hands. He cussed. Morgan laughed at Daud’s glare.

Rulfio fired his wristbow, a sleep dart lodging itself into Morgan’s neck. The man almost instantly fell to the floor. He turned his attention back to Corvo. Worry spread through his chest when he found the boy collapsed on the ground. Rulfio checked his pulse and breathing immediately, finding both steady. He let out a sigh of relief and looked over Corvo’s back and shoulders. The cuts were deep and jagged, some kind of design that only made sense to a madman. It made him sick. Daud made his way over to them. He wordlessly handed Rulfio a blanket, which he took and enveloped the boy in, turning him over. He slid his arms under the boy’s back and knees, lifting him almost effortlessly. That wasn’t good. Daud seemed to notice as well, a flicker of worry behind his impassive mask. 

Footsteps erupted down the hallway. Most likely the estate guards. Daud blinked up to the rafters and exited the building, Rulfio — with Corvo in his arms — behind him. 

They made their way to the old waterfront between the Estate District and Draper’s Ward as the rain began to slow into a cold mist. Emerging from the shadows of the ratty factories and processing plants along the Wrenhaven. A lone figure stood waiting for them, looking out over the docks. 

“Miss White,” Daud greeted, stepping towards the woman and bowing his head slightly. She gave him a smile.

“Mr. Daud. I hope you’ve not run into any trouble on your way here?”

“None at all. Though there were complications to our retrieval.” She frowned, a whisk of concern on her pretty face. 

“Oh? Tell me.”

“Morgan was aware of our presence and created a struggle, hence the damage to the contract.” He held out the burnt parchment, which she took gingerly. “We did manage to recover the boy, though.” Her gaze flicked up to Rulfio and Corvo, a sadness filling her eyes. “Ultimately, we failed. I apologize.”

She took in a deep breath, putting a sad smile on her lips. “It’s no matter. You saved the boy. That’s what really matters. Morgan will be worried enough as it is. He most likely will not risk any more purchases in the upcoming years.” She set a hand on Daud’s shoulder, only then taking her eyes off of Corvo. “I apologize as well, Mr. Daud. I realize how much you wanted to put Morgan away.”

“Would it be possible to have Corvo — the boy,” he amended, “testify?” Miss White put a hand under her chin, thinking. The silence stretched.

“I’m afraid it wouldn’t be possible. He has no legal standing point here in Dunwall, and I’m afraid the Court wouldn’t listen to a boy that wasn’t of nobility. Now, for the matter of your payment.” Daud frowned.

“Miss White, it isn’t needed—”

“Nonsense, boy,” she cut him off, holding up a hand to silence him. “There was no failure tonight. I only wish that you would take that boy to someone who would care for him and love him unconditionally.” Daud gave her a reassuring nod. 

“Thank you, Miss White. I will personally see to it.” The woman handed him a slip of parchment and whispered a goodbye, moving into the darkness. 

…

Daud leaned heavily on his paper-strewn desk. It had been a long night. They had brought Corvo back to their home, the ‘abandoned’ building in the Distillery District. Rulfio had seen to it that the boy received medical attention. 

Rulfio walked into his quarters mere seconds after that thought. 

Speak of the Devil and he shall appear.

“Daud. Corvo’s awake and stable.” The Whaler paused. “He’d like to see you.”

Daud frowned, but made his way to Corvo’s room, Rulfio behind him. The boy was waiting for him, sitting upright on the mattress. A clean, white shirt covered his bandaged torso and arms, practically drowning his slim and starved figure. He looked like — no, he was — just a child. Exhaustion marked the space underneath his eyes.

“Mr. Daud,” Corvo greeted. His confidence slipped a little as Daud entered the room fully. His eyes locked onto the end of the mattress before he spoke again. “I-I wanted to thank you for—”

“Make your point, boy.” 

Rulfio glared daggers.

Corvo looked up at Daud, determination and fire in his black eyes.

“I’ll put this bluntly then.” Daud could’ve staggered from the change of atmosphere in the room. “I have nowhere else to go, no family, no one I can trust, so I’m asking you. Will you take me in as one of your Whalers?” Daud blinked. He could’ve sworn that Rulfio was holding back laughter behind him, but when he turned to face him, he was serious. 

“How old are you, Corvo?”

“Sixteen—”

“And what makes you think you want to be a Whaler?” Corvo was silent at that. 

“I have experience on the streets, and with stealth.” Corvo cocked his head slightly. “And honestly, sir, I don’t think you’ll turn me down.”

Daud did a double take. Rulfio burst out laughing behind him. Daud turned on him. 

“I-I’m sorry,” the Whaler said through his bouts of laughter. “It’s true though!” Daud glared and shoved Rulfio out of the room, closing the door behind him. Corvo had a look of amusement on his face, though he was still carefully attentive to Daud’s movements. He looked like he was ready to get out of the room, get out of the corner; tense to say the least. Daud was still dangerous to him then. Daud sighed.

“You’ll start training with Rulfio.” 

Corvo relaxed his stiff body and smiled genuinely.

PART 1 END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for posting this chapter so late. I ran into a heavy deterrent of writer's block and was not able to write for quite a while. As an apology, I made this chapter VERY long. I hope you enjoy and stick around for the next part in this series - coming MUCH sooner than this chapter came. Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Please don’t hesitate to comment below, as I would love to hear your feedback.


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